


Irreverence

by plumtrees



Series: Four's a Party [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Barebacking, Bondage, Dirty Talk, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5065297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumtrees/pseuds/plumtrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Matsukawa is quick to test his limits, thrusting as deep as he can and staying until Oikawa’s throat is spasming around him, until his eyes burn with tears that soak through the blindfold, until drool dribbles along the corners of his mouth. He pulls out and Oikawa hangs his head, a slick mix of saliva and precome trickling past his gaping lips. Matsukawa’s long fingers tip his head up, thumb slipping into his mouth and swirling the mess he’d left behind.</p>
  <p>“If only you could see yourself.” Matsukawa growls, voice deep and fringed with the roughness of arousal. “Such a wreck just from this?”</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Irreverence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monolade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monolade/gifts).



> *sweats at tags*
> 
> it's a series now, save my soul
> 
> for [gondowan](http://gondowan.tumblr.com) absolutely lovely person who requested Oikawa-in-the-middle and gave me wonderfully filthy prompts to work with.

When Oikawa enters the club for the first time in weeks, it is an unusual chaos that greets him.

He dodges a flustered-looking waiter as he makes his way around. It’s surprising to see The Blue Leaf’s interior this packed, but the club’s popularity must have picked up since Oikawa’s last visit. 

_Well...not_ that _surprising,_ he rectifies as his eyes travel appreciatively along tables with poles at the center, each holding its own pretty little performer, meant to be admired but never touched. Oikawa smiles as he catches Kunimi in the act of slowly sliding a stocking down a long, lean leg, fluttering doe eyes at the men surrounding him, gulling them into spending their hard-earned money just to see another inch of his flawless skin. 

Their gazes meet, and his lids settle a little lower, fully intent on seducing Oikawa into joining the circle of men currently at his mercy. He tilts his head slightly in apology. He has other plans tonight.

He walks past Kindaichi—dutifully keeping watch for any troublemakers—and into a narrow stairway, a teal neon line close to the ceiling serving as the only light source. He pulls back the curtain on the other end and the view that greets him is much different from the room he’d previously been in. There is no sign of anyone nursing a drink and the atmosphere is more muted. There is only one large stage, where a muscular blond is on his knees, red rope criss-crossing his torso, arms tied behind him. Standing above him is a pale brunette with beautiful sweeping hair and a flogger in his right hand. A familiar warmth prickles in Oikawa’s belly at the sight.

“Oikawa-san.” a soft voice greets, snapping him out of his silent admiration, and he turns to see Watari sitting behind the counter. “It’s been a long time.”

Oikawa grins at him, though it’s a bit forced. “Two weeks, Watacchi?”

Watari tilts his head, a slight blush on his face. “You never deviated from your visit schedule, then suddenly stop for two weeks. It’s fair to be at least a _little_ concerned, Oikawa-san.”

“Real life has kept me busy.” he answers with a short laugh. “Any of my favorites free?”

Watari’s gaze flicks downward, checking something outside Oikawa’s field of vision. “Only one of them at the moment. Should I send him up to one of the rooms?”

“VIP booth, please, I’d like to talk first.”

He nods in understanding and Oikawa hears him tapping away. “Done. Now if you please, Oikawa-san…”

Oikawa extends his wrist for Watari to stamp, checking it once with a UV flashlight to check if the ink had marked properly. He nods in satisfaction and allows Oikawa to retract his wrist after a reminder about the status of his membership.

He walks into the booth, and he’s seated for all of three minutes before he catches the clack of heels, increasing in volume as they approach. The sound halts and hands settle on his shoulders, gliding down his upper arms. A warm breath puffs on his ear and a soft kiss is placed right at the lobe.

“I missed you,” Hanamaki purrs, vaulting over the backrest and onto his lap, lifting a finger to trace the line of his jaw. “Where’ve you been?”

“Work.” Oikawa answers simply. Hanamaki raises an unimpressed eyebrow and Oikawa purposefully trails a hand along the inside of his wrist, at the little dots of faded bruises running perpendicular to it. He fidgets and Oikawa catches more bruises and welts beneath his loose top. Usually it is enough to get him going, but all he can muster up for now is a dull interest. 

“Are Iwa-chan and Mattsun working?”

Hanamaki’s eyes flit to the ceiling, the floor above, where all the special rooms are. “In about five minutes they won’t be.” caramel eyes blink at him, concern and understanding flooding into that intense gaze. “That bad, huh? Poor baby.”

Oikawa doesn’t move when Hanamaki leans in for a kiss. Hanamaki’s tongue goads him into biting down, slithering between molars and canines, but Oikawa grabs him by the waist and pulls him away, his tongue catching on Oikawa’s upper lip as he obediently retreats. 

“So, who are we playing with tonight?” he asks, sitting back on Oikawa’s knees.

Oikawa eyes the pretty little flush high on Hanamaki’s cheekbones, the way his shoulders heave slightly as he pants. He closes his eyes. It’s not enough. It’s not what he needs.

“Me.”

-

Iwaizumi sets him up. It’s a game they’ve played countless times before, but never like this. He is silent and pliable as Iwaizumi strips him naked and ties his wrists and ankles on separate steel bars, feet and hands forced shoulder-width apart. Iwaizumi tightens the cuffs and the restriction is liberating. He feels freer than he’s ever been, completely unburdened of all the responsibilities piled on him as the heir of a company. He watches as Iwaizumi clips chains onto the ends of the bars. There is a high whine of machinery and his hands are stretched high above his head, body pulled taut.

He looks over to his right where Hanamaki and Matsukawa are inspecting a shelf full of toys. Iwaizumi clicks his tongue and his attention snaps back. He’s holding up a thin strip of fabric, silk, by the way it shines in the dim light. Oikawa bows his head to facilitate the task of tying the knot. 

When it’s finally secure, Iwaizumi cradles his face in strong but soft hands and presses a chaste kiss against his lips. The chains loosen up and he pushes Oikawa down to his knees, slipping something into his hand. Small, round, the soft tinkling it releases when shaken deafening in the silence of the room. Oikawa closes his fist around it and hopes he will not need it.

Another kiss, this time with the parting signature of a tongue sliding against Oikawa’s bottom lip, and then he is alone.

He takes deep breaths, soft and slow, works his head around the idea of being so utterly _helpless_ , foreign as the feeling restraints biting into his joints, of being on his knees with his hands chained above him.

“How does it feel?” Iwaizumi’s voice snaps from seemingly out of nowhere, as ominous as the crack of a whip. “Not being in charge, naked and on your knees like a common whore.”

There is a burn in his cheeks that is not from outrage. He is surprised to find that he has to struggle so little with the urge to order the speaker around, to bend them to his will, as it always has been. 

“He’s hard and we haven’t even touched him yet. I think he _likes_ this.”

He shivers at the sound of Matsukawa’s voice. It’s jarring how the cool edge of it is directed towards him.

“We could just leave him there, all tied up and unsatisfied?” Hanamaki chimes in. He clenches his jaw tight in a bid to keep from lashing out. Their laughter echoes in the room and someone’s fingers curl in his hair and tighten. He snarls on instinct. 

“Looks like the toy still has some fight in him left.” Iwaizumi assesses.

Matsukawa coos. “All the more fun.”

The hold on his hair tightens and he winces at the pinpricks of pain, acute due to his lack of vision. There is the sound of a zipper coming undone. His heartbeat echoes in his ears as the hand drags his head forward.

“Go on, don’t be shy.” something firm and long rubs against his cheek. He smells skin and sweat and the heady scent of arousal. “That’s all you're good for isn’t it? Sucking cock?”

He gasps when a hand palms the curve of his ass, finger rubbing provocatively around his entrance. It slips in, insistent and dry. His jaw clenches in response. Matsukawa sighs tetchily. 

“Iwaizumi, help me out here.” 

A strong hand clamps around his jaw, forcing it down. Something slots between his teeth; metal, from the taste of it. His tongue darts out to trace the shape of the implement as the buckle snaps shut behind his head. A ring gag.

“Much better.” Matsukawa mumbles, and that’s all the warning he gets before Matsukawa shoves his cock through the ring and straight into Oikawa’s mouth.

Hanamaki chuckles as he presses up behind him, forcing another finger inside. “Your hole is taking this is so eagerly.” 

“Stretch him properly, Hanamaki.”

Hanamaki hums idly, and Oikawa grunts around Matsukawa’s length in indignation when he feels something thin squeeze in alongside Hanamaki’s fingers and spurt out a cold, slick liquid inside him. It eases the way for Hanamaki, slipping in until he’s knuckle-deep.

“Not like he needs it though.” he says, and Oikawa writhes as he feels Hanamaki attempting to pull out of him with his fingers widely parted in a v-shape. “Bet you’ve gotten on your knees for some of your business partners, eh, Oikawa-sama?”

Hanamaki pulls out halfway before he shoves in with an obscene squelch. He squirms at the slide of fluids down his thighs and the thoughtful prod of a third finger at his rim. Hanamaki only has to cup one cheek and pull, parting him open even wider, pushing until he accepts the third finger with little more than a hitch. Above him, Matsukawa starts thrusting in and out of his mouth, and he flattens his tongue along the underside, flicking along the head at every opportunity.

The fingers rub against his prostate and his body convulses, toes curling. Oikawa hears a satisfied murmur past the rush of blood in his ears and the strokes elevate to a more persistent massage.

“You’re leaking.” Hanamaki whispers, and he keens as Hanamaki pulls out his fingers, leaving him to whimper as he clenches around empty air, excess lubricant dripping down his thighs.

Suddenly, something thick and blunt and _vibrating_ spreads him open, wider than Hanamaki’s fingers. Simultaneously, Matsukawa grabs the back of his head and buries himself straight down his throat.

Oikawa struggles not to choke around Matsukawa’s length, the fear of suffocating before he can get his gag reflex under control only all too real. Iwaizumi makes an alarmed noise. Hanamaki pauses and Matsukawa retreats to allow him a few gulps of air before guiding his head forward, gentler this time, Oikawa obediently relaxing his throat muscles for him as he goes.

“Would you look at that?” is Matsukawa’s pleased rumble. Oikawa trembles as fingers stroke along the column of his exposed throat, curiously prodding at the spot where Oikawa can feel Matsukawa end. Matsukawa pulls out and Oikawa breathes in a gasp of relief, but it is his only respite before Matsukawa rams back in.

On his other end, Hanamaki’s purposefully angling the toy so that his prostate gets hit with every inward thrust. The buzzing sound steadily switches between muffled and deplorably loud, counterpoint to Oikawa’s choked noises.

Matsukawa is quick to test his limits, thrusting as deep as he can and staying until Oikawa’s throat is spasming around him, until his eyes burn with tears that soak through the blindfold, until drool dribbles along the corners of his mouth. He pulls out and Oikawa hangs his head, a slick mix of saliva and precome trickling past his gaping lips. Matsukawa’s long fingers tip his head up, thumb slipping into his mouth and swirling the mess he’d left behind.

“If only you could see yourself.” Matsukawa growls, voice deep and fringed with the roughness of arousal. “Such a wreck just from this?”

Inside him, the dildo snaps up to a different setting, tip twisting in a circular motion. A gurgling moan is the only response he’s capable of making.

“Swallow.” Matsukawa commands. “Clean out your dirty mouth.”

He doesn’t realize at first how difficult of a task it really is with his mouth forced open, but Matsukawa tilts his head sharply back. He works his throat muscles around the fluids sliding their way down, tongue flailing in a half-useless bid to help them along.

Without warning, the dildo cranks up to a faster setting and he chokes.

Matsukawa lets up when he coughs and sputters, fingers moving from his hair to the clasp of the gag. The toy’s motions slow to a stop. There is a tense pause, then Oikawa shakes the bell, even as he takes a raspy-sounding breath. The game continues.

The dildo comes alive with a telltale click, starting off generously slow. Fingers cup his chin and he angles his head up, offering his mouth for Matsukawa to take. Matsukawa wastes no time, moving to cradle the back of his head before pulling him in.

Matsukawa starts a cruel pace, each breath he allows Oikawa in-between cycling hotter, faster. Hanamaki tunes the settings into a higher, irregular rhythm, sparking involuntary jolts of motion through his body. He moans, long and manic, when a thumb rubs circles around his perineum, and the vibrations are enough to push Matsukawa over the edge, flooding his throat and leaving him with no choice but to swallow.

It is only when Matsukawa backs away that he realizes, between breaths that drag their way into his lungs, that he’d just come without even touching his cock.

Everything is eerily silent. Even the toy inside him has fallen still, but something about it makes Oikawa nervous. There is a crackle of tense energy in the air, like the smell of ozone before a storm. 

He feels the jerk of the chain before he hears it, the shriek ringing in his ears as he’s pulled to his feet, jellied legs flailing uselessly to support him as he hangs from the chains on the ceiling. He arches his feet and plants his toes on the ground, heart thudding furiously at the shock.

“And what makes you think.” Iwaizumi growls low, every word thick with the promise of something sinister, “you can come without permission?” 

Without warning, a wet heat envelopes the head of his cock and the toy buzzes to life, still buried deep inside him. He lets out a loud, startled moan, the surprise tapering off to pain as the pressure around his dick increases and a hand behind him moves the toy until it’s firmly touching his prostate. He whines, whips his head every which way, and begs for mercy with every futile squirm, only to be met with indifference.

Hanamaki’s mouth is on his oversensitive cock, ruthlessly licking and sucking hard, like he’s wrenching another orgasm out of him, but it’s too soon and it _hurts_. He arches and jerks, tries to buck hard enough to force Hanamaki off, but he soon finds that the slightest shift in his tenuous position causes him to overbalance, forcing the cuffs on his wrists to carry his weight until he manages to plant his toes on the floor. The limited scope of movement he’s allowed only serves to thrust himself deeper.

The gag keeps him open, each moan and scream unimpeded. He sobs and cries out as Hanamaki pulls away and laps at the slit before drawing him in again with a vicious suck. Another hand grabs his hips and keeps them still. He feels the outline of Hanamaki’s smile and his mind reels as he sinks down, until Hanamaki’s nose is buried in the hair at the apex of his thighs.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Iwaizumi prompts. “After earlier, I would’ve thought you’d be so eager to come.”

Hanamaki initiates a series of swallows, humming and moaning around him. He keeps him perfectly balanced between incomprehensible pain and devastating pleasure, the spike of one muted by the wash of the other until everything equilibrates into perfect oscillation, his brain registering both as one and the same. It’s addictive, the heat of adrenaline and the sweetness of endorphins stirring into a potent cocktail of pure ecstasy. 

He thinks—and oh, what a _waste_ —that he hasn’t truly understood Hanamaki’s lust for pain until this moment.

And it is with that thought that he comes, nothing more than weak little drops, right down Hanamaki’s throat. Hanamaki retreats and someone pulls the toy out of him with a harsh tug, eliciting a full-body shiver. His cock aches, wrung dry and stinging in the cool air of the room. His legs are quivering with the strain of holding him upright, and when the chains finally fall slack, he slumps into an undignified heap on the floor.

“Let’s try this again.” he dimly hears Iwaizumi say. “You are not allowed to come without permission. Is that clear?”

It takes a while for the question to penetrate through the throbbing din in his head, and Oikawa jerks his head in what he hopes is a nod. A sharp slap across his face tells him otherwise.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes.” Oikawa responds, as best as he can around the ring in his mouth. It’s not enough. A hand jerks his head back, pulling until Oikawa can feel an immense strain on his neck muscles. 

“Get this through your thick little skull, Oikawa- _sama_.” 

The title, indicative of respect and said with reverence, is derisive, spat like an insult. The hand drops to his nape, and he’s pushed to the floor, the cold tile biting against the side of his face.

“I don’t give a shit about the fact that you grew up with people tripping over their own feet to obey your every whim. Here,” Iwaizumi brings more of his weight to bear, making him whimper softly, “You’re just our _toy_.”

The pressure of Iwaizumi’s hand lifts, but Oikawa does not even try to shift to a more comfortable position, like the sheer force of his words are pinning him down.

“We could give you three orgasms in succession, force it out of you if we want to, or tie you up here for hours with a vibrator up your ass and a ring on your cock.”

Matsukawa ends that with a delighted little purr. He feels arousal course thickly, softly, through him as the words unlock something in his psyche, something he never had the courage to explore on his own.

“But if you’re a obedient little toy, we’ll make this so good for you.” Hanamaki recites slowly, voice so, so sweet. “Is that understood?”

There is a click, and the gag falls from his slack mouth to the floor. It doesn’t even register at first, his mouth hanging open around a phantom instrument, but another slap and a harsher repeat of _is that understood_ jolts him into awareness.

“Yes.” he answers, then hurries to remedy his mistake. “Yes, sir.”

“What are you?”

“I’m your…” he starts, jaw trembling. He scrabbles for clarity, but he finds nothing to hold on to. “I’m your toy, and I only do as I’m told.”

The back of a finger strokes tenderly along the curve of a stinging cheek, and he feels himself falling. “Now, was that so hard?”

He shakes his head slowly, cannot recall ever feeling so weightless. “No, sir.”

“Good.” Iwaizumi drawls, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa echo his praise. Someone cups his cheek and he leans into the touch, nuzzling the palm and kissing the calloused edges, giggling softly as the tips tickle beneath his chin. The fall slows. He floats in the feel of their approval. 

“What do you need? Tell us.” Iwaizumi murmurs in his ear, and the words stoke an awakening fire in his stomach. 

Iwaizumi licks slowly up the shell of his ear. Another tongue is lapping up the sweat the pooled in his collarbones. A hand grants barely-there touches on his sides, thighs, dancing between playfulness and intimacy. He’s near delirious from the intensity, and all he has left is the question of how he’d ever hope to live without it.

“Anything.” Oikawa whispers, hoarse and tinged with desperation, “Take me. Take everything. I need—”

He falls silent, out of words. A hand trails down his chest, etching lines of fire as it goes, and when it cups between his legs, he realizes that he’s hard again.

“Get him up.”

His legs are working to obey before he even knows it. The gag is snapped back in place and the chains pull him up. It’s the perfect height for him this time, allowing him to bend his elbows and keep his feet flat on the floor.

Someone presses against him—naked flesh, scorching at every point of contact—lining up their bodies chest-to-back. At this position, their pelvises are perfectly flush, his erection slotting between the cleft of his ass. He twitches when a head of spiky hair falls on his shoulder. He turns, daring to nuzzle the high arc of a cheekbone and gets a pleased mewl for his trouble. Affection spreads through him, soothing and warm.

Iwaizumi begins to undulate, the swell of his ass grinding against his hardness. Oikawa jerks, mindlessly struggling against the cuffs, fighting to grab those hips and encourage more of that friction. Iwaizumi shifts, their upper bodies parting but staying connected up to the hip. Oikawa pictures Iwaizumi with his hands on the floor, ass held high in the air and he hurriedly swallows around the drool that floods his mouth.

The position opens Iwaizumi up just a little bit more, and when Iwaizumi’s entrance meets the head of his dick and slides down inch by torturous inch, it belatedly hits Oikawa that he is already wet, every bit of him soft and welcoming. A wave of heat threatens to consume him as the implications take hold. His head flies back, hips lurching forward, wanting more, more, _more_ —

“Don’t move.” Iwaizumi snaps, and Oikawa’s body freezes. 

It’s perfect. Fucking Iwaizumi always feels amazing, he’s surprised he’s still able to think at all. He groans as Iwaizumi finally sinks to the hilt, taking all of him in. In any other situation, Oikawa would be zeroed in on that feeling, the novelty of it never dying down no matter how many times they did it; but now, Oikawa’s too busy trying to find _anything_ to distract him from Iwaizumi’s velvet heat. He resorts to biting around the metal ring, closing his hands into tight fists, breathing heavily through his nose. For brief moments, it spares him; the dull pain pulsing through his teeth, the sharp sting of his nails digging into his palms keeping him from falling apart.

Iwaizumi, mercifully, settles down, rolling his hips on Oikawa’s lap in a shallow pace.

“Hanamaki, Matsukawa, give his holes something to do.” Iwaizumi instructs, voice clear and steady, like he’s not fucking himself on Oikawa’s dick. 

There is a flurry of activity, hands and lips catching whatever they can hold. He catalogues the sensations, trying to concentrate on every single one. Fingers are cradling his jaw, easing his head into turning, and slide into his waiting mouth. The owner huffs a laugh as his tongue eagerly greets the trespassers. Matsukawa. He licks along Oikawa’s lips, tugs at them with his teeth as his fingers invade his mouth.

That leaves Hanamaki as the one standing behind him, the rough weave of his top like grit against hypersensitive skin. He’s palming his hips and ass, teasingly nudging him deeper into Iwaizumi with jerks of his hips. His erection slips between Oikawa’s thighs and he groans as Hanamaki’s thumbs slink into his cleft, spreading him wide open and hooking his thumbs against the rim. He tries to clench around the intrusion but the cuffs around his ankles hold tight. Eagerly, Hanamaki lines himself up and fully sheaths himself in one smooth plunge.

“Tight.” Hanamaki hisses. “Shit, even after all that? You really are the perfect little fucktoy, aren’t you?”

He nods his head meekly, a whimper falling from his lips as Hanamaki leans in and licks his cheek.

“So fucking hot,” Hanamaki growls as Oikawa clenches around him in tandem with his pulse. He cries out around Matsukawa as Hanamaki pulls back and hammers his prostate, a relentless rhythm that causes his cock to twitch inside Iwaizumi.

“I swear to god, Oikawa, the things I will do to you,” Iwaizumi grunts as Oikawa thrusts sharply in response to Hanamaki’s, “if you come before I‘m done with you.”

A part of him _wants_ to know what it is Iwaizumi will do to him, how much worse it will be compared to his earlier punishment; but that part is small now, insignificant. A deeper, baser part of him wants nothing more than to obey, to please. Matsukawa continues to abuse his mouth, scratching the insides of his cheeks, coaxing his tongue out through the ring and pinching it between two fingers, gliding and squeezing in a sick parody of a kiss.

Iwaizumi begins to move himself on his dick, working Oikawa deeper and faster inside him, the globes of his ass cushioning Oikawa’s pelvis with every entry. He fights to stay still, even as Hanamaki sinks into him again and again, harder each time.

“That’s it, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi praises, and his voice is catching, breaths coming in less controlled bursts and through gritted teeth. “Keep going, _fuck_ , just like that.”

Oikawa moans as Hanamaki bites into a shoulder, thrusts turning erratic. Matsukawa forces him into a kiss, sliding his tongue into the space between metal and teeth, sucking Oikawa’s tongue into his mouth. The sensations scrape beneath his skin like electric charge; sharp, prickly tingles from the tips of his fingers to his toes. 

He bucks, dives headfirst into the bliss of not being so completely and utterly overwhelmed. They’re tireless, tossing him between fear and delight, disgust and pleasure, sanity and depravity. He meets all of them head-on. He wants it, wants everything, even the pain.

Iwaizumi moans, slams against his hips and quickly pulls off of his dick. As if taking a cue, they all retreat at that moment and distressed whines spill from Oikawa’s abused throat at the loss. Behind him, Hanamaki comes across his thighs and ass with a stream of small, happy moans, but it’s not enough to get him off. He takes quick breaths to calm himself, but it does him little good. He’s on the brink; so very close to shattering, each moment spent untouched making him heat up further with anticipation.

A hand gently curls around his engorged and aching shaft. He sobs at the contact, jerking sharply like he’d been burned, but it is still not _enough_. The circle of Iwaizumi’s fist is far too big, strokes too slow. Oikawa writhes, tries to get enough friction to but Iwaizumi adjusts with his every move, keeping him just at the edge of any proper stimulation.

He groans with every upstroke, whimpers with every feather-light graze of his skin against the head, begs behind the gag but he gets no relief. Another hand joins in to tickle his balls, talented fingers leaving delicate dots of searing contact on his skin.

“Are you crying, sweetheart?” Hanamaki’s disembodied voice teases, somewhere to his right. A finger pinches his nipples and rolls them between sharp nails. “What do you need?”

 _Please, let me come_ he tries to say, but all that spill out are pathetic keens and choked sobs.

“What’s that?” Hanamaki asks, voice laced with exaggerated confusion. Oikawa feels the heat radiating off of him as he leans close, like it’ll help him decode his distorted pleas. “I think he wants us to stop.”

Oikawa’s heart almost jumps out of his ribcage when their hands fall away. He struggles like an enraged animal against his bonds, starved, desperate for _something_ to relieve the pent-up tension. The noises that rip from his throat don’t even sound human; growls, wails, whines, delirious pleas that are little more than amalgamations of vowels.

A breath on his cheek cuts through the chaos. All his movements cease, save for his heaving breaths, flecked with sobs. He’s made aware of the tears that leaked through the blindfold when a calloused thumb smears them across his cheek. Someone continues to hush him, a rhythmic stream of air seeping from between the gaps between teeth, cool puffs of air on overheating skin. 

“Such a cute little toy, isn’t he?” Matsukawa chuckles over the heady rush of panic in his mind. His head lolls back and is met with a strong shoulder. A finger slides up the underside of his shaft, a ghost of a touch, Oikawa fails to smother a high sob. 

“You can come, Tooru.” Iwaizumi whispers, and it’s like a call from god himself. Iwaizumi finally closes his fist tight around his cock and all it takes is one pull and he’s _coming_ , sobbing in wild relief, each spurt like a little bit of his soul being wrenched from his body.

He thinks, maybe, that even without the gag, his mouth would be open in a scream as all his nerves simultaneously fire and overload, singing in unholy chorus as the tightness in his gut is finally unwound. He writhes and spasms through his third orgasm of the night, shuddering as his eyes roll to the back of his head. 

Time stops. The world is put on suspension. He sags against the chains, the bell still held tight around his fist. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that before hands are on him again, but it is clear from the tender touch that the intentions have drastically changed. He’s released from the bonds and the gag and pulled against someone’s chest, laid down on something that squeaks in protest under his weight, but it’s soft and warm and he nuzzles into it with a quiet sigh.

Slowly, he tests his limbs, slightly stiff from all the strain he’s put on them, and reaches up to the strip of fabric covering his eyes.

“Hey.” a voice chides. Oikawa stiffens, still too dazed to recognize the voice but he is reassured anyway when gentle hands pry his fingers away from the knot. 

“Close your eyes, Oikawa,” someone says. Hands touch his face, knuckles brushing his cheek before reaching up to untie the blindfold for him. He slowly opens his eyes when it comes off completely, blinking rapidly to adjust to the room’s—thankfully dim—lighting.

“You okay?” A pink-haired blob asks as it guides a red straw into his mouth. He takes a slow sip. _Water_ , he realizes, and drinks the contents greedily. The bell falls from his fingers, to be replaced by the cup, and the mist in his mind clears with every gulp.

Hanamaki takes the cup when he finishes, pressing a kiss to his lips. Matsukawa doesn’t wait for his turn, laying kisses along Oikawa’s aching jaw, each soft press of lips a silent apology.

Faintly, he hears a voice, muffled like it’s coming from a different room entirely, and the next thing he knows, he’s being lifted. He watches as the ceiling changes from cream to white tile and he turns his head just in time to see Iwaizumi stand from his perch on a large bathtub.

A soft whine escapes his throat, and Iwaizumi gives him an exasperated little smile before leaning in to greet him with a kiss. Oikawa smiles as Iwaizumi ends it with a nose bump, feeling giddy and warm despite the many aches slowly making itself known to him as his body begins to wake. Quickly, he’s deposited in the water and he groans in relief at the warmth washing over his body. 

“How much of a big shot are you three that you guys get a bathtub this huge?” he groans, wincing at the gravel in his voice as Hanamaki and Matsukawa dispose of their clothes and join him and Iwaizumi in the tub.

“What you think you’re the only rich pretty boy who books us for the whole night?” Iwaizumi replies haughtily as he pours water over Oikawa’s head. Behind him, Matsukawa’s lathering his hands with shampoo while Hanamaki’s busying himself with upending bottles into the water, the scent of flowers and fruits floating in the air.

Oikawa sighs dopily as Matsukawa sinks his hands into his hair, massaging his scalp. “Iwa-chan thinks I’m pretty.”

“Pretty stupid, maybe.”

“Oh _yes_ , humiliate me more, please…”

Iwaizumi sends an almighty splash his way, much to Matsukawa’s chagrin. Hanamaki takes his hand and lifts it out of the water, checking his wrists. Oikawa remembers struggling pretty badly, but the markings are remarkably faint. 

“Well it’s already fading, so that’s good.” he appraises. Iwaizumi’s busy with his ankles, massaging the joint to encourage the healing process.

Oikawa sinks farther down, thoroughly enjoying the feel of having to do nothing, but the stillness of the water is suddenly disturbed and Oikawa opens his eyes to find Iwaizumi already out of the tub.

“Iwa-chan, come back!” Oikawa croaks, scrambling to follow despite his body’s protests to the excessive movement—

Only to find Iwaizumi bent over at the waist, exposing his wonderfully sculpted ass, hole gaping slightly. 

Oikawa’s mouth goes dry at the sight. Hanamaki rests his elbows on the edge of the tub and makes a show of admiring the view, propping his chin on both hands and sighing dreamily. 

“Actually no, that’s fine. Stay like that.” Oikawa calls out weakly and Matsukawa wolf-whistles in agreement. Iwaizumi straightens and turns to him with an incensed glower, then realizes that all three of them are ogling him. 

Oikawa’s not sure what exactly happens—and how Iwaizumi can move that fast when he’d just been fucked less than fifteen minutes ago is a mystery to him—but he hears two dull thunks before a loud splash, and when he looks around, all he sees are two bottles of facial wash floating in the general areas where Matsukawa and Hanamaki were just sitting a moment ago. 

Iwaizumi saunters over to the tub, limp only very slightly noticeable now that Oikawa is looking out for it.

“I think I already tortured you enough for one night.” he says simply, probably in response to the confused look Oikawa has on his face. He schools his expression into a teasing smile.

“Aww, I should sub more often.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and swings his legs over the rim, dipping his feet back in the water and sitting gingerly on the edge. “So, you liked it?”

Oikawa hums thoughtfully, settling his head on Iwaizumi’s lap, recalling the feeling of being controlled, bent to someone else’s will, taking only what he’s given. The memory triggers a pleasurable tingle through his body. “Well, I guess I like it either way, I’ll have to test it out more though.” 

He purrs when Iwaizumi cards a hand through his hair. “It’s nice having Makki, Mattsun, and Iwa-chan take care of me, but I like taking care of you guys too.”

Iwaizumi’s smile is fond but it slips off as soon as he realizes that Oikawa’s staring, and Oikawa aches with missing it already. “Here.” Iwaizumi says brusquely and shoves something in Oikawa’s face. It takes seconds for his addled mind to register the identity of the thing held in Iwaizumi’s hand: a thick layer of cream sandwiched between two pillowy slices of bread.

Oikawa’s eyes prickle with unshed tears. “Iwa-chan…”

“I swear to god if you actually start _crying_ —” Iwaizumi grumbles but doesn’t actually finish the sentence, because Oikawa already has his mouth around the treat, making thrilled noises as he bites a sizeable chunk off. Dammit, he hadn’t had milk bread in _weeks_.

“Way to leave us out, guys.”

Oikawa turns, slightly achy jaw slowly chewing around a mound of milk bread, to see Hanamaki with his arms crossed. Behind him, Matsukawa presses a placating kiss to the juncture between shoulder and neck, one of Hanamaki’s better-known weak points.

“Don’t worry Takahiro. You’ll always have me.”

“Oh, Issei.”

Iwaizumi sends them flat looks, which bounces off as Hanamaki pretends to swoon in Matsukawa’s arms. Oikawa looks up at Iwaizumi and darts his eyes down to the vacant spot on his lap, which Iwaizumi responds to by giving him the same look he gave Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Oikawa sinks lower into the tub until the bubbles cover up his pout.

They all get out of the water when Hanamaki starts complaining about prune-y fingers and Matsukawa pats Oikawa down with a towel, patient and thorough, sprinkling kisses and short bouts of tickling as he went by his task. Oikawa thinks he finally understands why Iwaizumi and Hanamaki adore being showered by his attention. 

Matsukawa carries him to a bed where Hanamaki waits on his knees, dressed in a shirt two sizes too large for him. To his surprise, he’s positioned on his stomach, and Hanamaki climbs over him. 

“I don’t think I’m up for another round just yet, Makki.” he jokes, a light warning.

“Not what I was going for, idiot.” Hanamaki laughs as he finally settles on his lower back. Oikawa catches the sound of a bottle cap being opened and Hanamaki’s hands rubbing together vigorously. When Hanamaki touches him, his hands are pleasantly hot, gently digging into Oikawa’s nape and the line of his shoulders. He moans and wonders if Hanamaki has ever considered a career as a masseuse. He should. He attempts to vocalize that thought but it dissolves into another moan when Hanamaki’s thumbs slide down curve of his spine, maintaining a firm pressure as they went.

“Careful there, Hanamaki. I don’t want him blowing his load on my side of the bed.” Iwaizumi huffs as he leans against a bedpost.

Oikawa freezes, then sniffs the pillow.

“That’s disgusting.”

Oikawa lifts his head from the pillow to pout at Iwaizumi’s disturbed expression. “Considering your line of work, I figured you’d know better than to kinkshame, Iwa-chan.”

Above him, Hanamaki pauses and nods smugly. “An Iwaizumi kink certainly isn’t the most unusual of kinks.”

“Hey, I think I might have that too.” Matsukawa pipes up from where he’s dumping used equipment into a box.

Iwaizumi stares at the three of them in disbelief before throwing his hands up in surrender.

**Author's Note:**

> Mattsun in the middle? Iwa in the middle? Anyone?
> 
> visit my dumpster home @ [plumtreeforest.tumblr.com](http://plumtreeforest.tumblr.com)


End file.
